Speak Through
by SpiritBearr
Summary: A Captain can't be a Captain if he can't speak, and, after being taken hostage and tortured, speech is something Kirk seems to be having a problem with. Chances are good it is a temporary condition, but the thought prevails...what if it's not?
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Speak Through**

**Rating: K+/T**

**Warnings: Some language, torture (though not detailed, more of a mention)**

**Summary: Jim has been taken hostage by a race of hostile aliens. Though his rescue goes off cleanly, and he begins to heal, the damage to his throat is sever enough to prevent speech. The chances are good that the damage is temporary….but the thought is on everyone's mind. What if it's **_**not**_**? **

__________________________________

_I've lost track of time. I've lost track of everything. _

_My arms…..hurt. My back. My head. My __**throat**__. More then anything, my throat __**hurts**__. Burns. I can't….can't breath right. It's hard, like breathing through a straw. Sitting up helps, so I lay with my upper body propped against one steel wall, even though it makes my back and ribs scream in protest. _

_Footsteps. I'm used to them by now, light footsteps, like a dancer. These people are truly beautiful. They move like water, and they look like birds. _

_They are sadistic and cruel. They cause pain because they can, hate humans because they see us as weak. _

_We were supposed to negotiate with them. I was not supposed to be the thing being negotiated for. _

"_Food." Says a voice, soft and piping, like music. "Captain." _

_I'm not hungry. I can't say so. _

_Even if I was, swallowing is nearly impossible. The door opens, and one of them comes in. Tall-taller then me (not hard), but towering even over Spock. Beautiful white feathers everywhere, and those wings- six, seven foot wings, folded against his back. Claws where fingernails should be and talons for thumbs-I know, I know so well what those talons can do, ripping through flesh and dancing dangerously close to the eye, could blind you, could kill you. A beak for a mouth, and eyes that are huge, expressive. Always purple. They all have violet eyes. _

_I shake my head at him. Like every other time I've said no, he ignores me. He-she? I can't tell- it no longer matters. _

"_Eat. You must eat, or you will die." He/she says, and if I could laugh, I would. I turn my head, and the creature sets the tray on the floor. "They will be displeased, if you die so soon, so easily." _

_Easily. I only wish it could be. I feel the cough before it explodes from my chest, ripping out of the narrow tube that is suddenly my throat. I double over, hacking, struggling to inhale, to stay conscious. Falling asleep, falling unconscious- that is when they like to come the most. When they like to wake you from it with a sharp jolt of agony, laughing and chatter in their own language when you jerk awake with a silent cry and lurching away from the claw, or weapon. _

_Can't pass out. Can't be vulnerable, here, like that. _

_Wheezing, I watch the creature watch me in fascination. They hate how weak we are but love how fragile; they want to destroy humans, rule us, __**own us**__, but we entertain them. _

_It's waiting, I realize, for me too loose the battle. _

_It's waiting for me to pass out. _

_Like a vulture, like a hyena. Quiet and patient and as it gets harder and harder to inhale, I know why. _

_Because I won't win. _

_My vision blurrs, dims, and the coughing won't stop, the pain won't stop, and all the stubborn will in the galaxy can't stop what happens next, no matter how hard I fight it. _

__________________________________

_Footsteps. _

_They are not light, not a dancer's footsteps. They are quiet steps, quick, but not like __**theirs**__. I lift my head but it's hard; it feels like a heavy, lead weight. Voices that I know, and my eyes won't focus on the door but there is a __**presence**__ that is familiar, somehow, something safe and comforting about it. _

"_Jim." Hisses the voice I know. "Aw, Jim, what did they do to you?" _

_I try to bring the face into focus, try to see the person it is that is so familiar to me. The chirp of a medical tricorder and concerned blue eyes bring it to light. _

_Bones._

_I'm looking at Bones. _

_He can't be here. I open my mouth to say, and the words catch painfully. I start to cough, and feel his hands on my shoulders. _

_He can't be here. He should be gone, with the ship, running far and fast. Away from me and away from here. He's in danger here. They're in danger, here. The ship- the crew-_

"_Easy, Jim, we're getting you out of here. You're safe, we're safe, just take it easy." _

_Not safe. Not safe, in danger and then he's moving me and pain spikes through my body. I cry out but no sound comes, and he's shushing me gently. _

"_Doctor, I suggest you hurry." Says another voice, Spock's voice, from the doorway. "We have attracted attention." _

"_He's……damn. Spock, it's bad, I can't-" _

_And the familiar hiss of a hypospray. I fight. I fight the darkness hard, because if I am gone they will come for Bones instead, Spock instead, the ship, my ship, my crew. _

"_Jim, come on, we're getting you out of here." The voice insists, Bones's voice insists, gentle and sorrowful. _

_There is no getting out, I want to say, but I can't say anything, so instead I push him, push him away. He shouldn't be here, they shouldn't be here, dangerous here-_

_The darkness threatens the edge of my vision. I can't pass out. Dangerous._

"_Let it come, Jim, it's okay." Bones's hand on my shoulder, in my hair, petting. It's nice. His hand is warm, and I'm so cold, and he's gentle. It's been a long time since I've felt a touch that gentle. _

"_Doctor-" _

"_He's pretty out of it, Spock, he's fighting the sedative-" _

"_Then let me. Watch the door, please." _

_Rustle of movement. From the doorway, Bones- "Oh, __**hell**__-" _

"_Indeed." Spock's voice, close now. "Jim. I apologize." _

_A flare of discomfort in the place where shoulder meets neck, and I no longer have a say in sleeping. _

______________________

"Captain's log: First Officer Spock in command.

What was intended to be a routine diplomatic mission to a recently discovered planet has quickly turned into a rescue operation.

The people are called Avios, and they are quite beautiful. Like their name suggests, they are very bird-like in appearance and life-style, preferring homes in the massive trees- the smallest being fifteen feet tall-of their planet. They themselves are tall and slender, with feathers that range from pure white to very green, some hybrid offspring boasting duel-colored plumage. They have claws upon both hands and feet, and six inch talons where their thumbs and largest toe would be. Clothing is optional, and not entirely necessary, as they appear to be sexless. Although, I assume they have their own way of discerning their genders.

They are a highly intelligent and artistic people, enjoying music, dance, art, and literature. They are curious, interested in development. They are also highly aggressive, with a deep-seated hatred of anything they perceive as 'weak'. For all their beauty and delicate appearance, the Avios are easily as strong as my own race, impossibly fast, tenacious, and recover swiftly from injury.

They heard us out, gave us food and drink, welcome us into their homes, and seemed very willing to cooperate with us. It was an enjoyable atmosphere, and perhaps if we had not…..

…..we did not notice the captain's absence until it was time to return to the _Enterprise_. The landing party consisted of myself, Doctor McCoy, Captain Kirk, security officers Garravik and Franklin, Ensign Chekov, helmsman Sulu, and Lieutenant Uhura. A large number of people, we were ordered to stay in pairs at the least. Disobeying his own orders, the Captain began to explore the nearby wooded area with two of the Avios, leaving Doctor McCoy and I. Moments later, he was gone.

They also took Chekov, Uhura, and Sulu in the resulting confrontation.

Garravik and Franklin were safely returned to the ship; doctor McCoy and myself remained on the planet, in communication with Engineer Scott, in command in our absence. Without hours, the later three were returned to us, badly hurt; reporting that the Captain had negotiated their freedom in return for a test of his own strength. That is what the Avios wanted. They do not wish peace, or cooperation.

They wish only entertainment for themselves by seeing how long humans will last before finally breaking. They wish humans tortured for their pleasure and killed. They see them as weak and frail, something to be destroyed.

It has been two weeks, and four days since we beamed aboard the _Enterprise_ with our wounded landing party and _without_ our Captain.

It has been two days and fifty-four minutes since Doctor McCoy and I found and rescued him from the Avios' holding cell.

The captain's wounds are grievous. Sever trauma to the face and head. Open, untreated wounds on his back, badly infected. Multiple broken bones, a dislocated shoulder. Massive blood loss, some internal damage. The worst seemed to be centered on his throat, however. His throat is swollen and badly bruised, and there seems to be some heavy tissue damage. It should-it will- heal in time. Until that time, our Captain is incapable of speech. Until he regains the ability, I am in command. Only until then."

_________________________

The soft sound of human life just outside the doors wakes me first, and I jerk to alertness, don't open my eyes, don't move. I'm not there anymore. There is a soft bed under me, not a hard metal cot, and pillows, and a blanket draped over my body. I can't move; I'm strapped down. I'm not there, so why am I strapped down?

I stop, breathe, listen, lay still.

Whistle-squeal, asthmatic hiss, clicks, burst of laughter from somewhere outside my reality. Asthmatic hiss.

Doors. Automatic doors.

Automatic doors on what?

Whistle-squeal, piercing, harsh in the quiet. A voice, low, rumbling words I can't make out. A woman's voice answering.

Doors. The only doors that sound like that-

-are on starships.

I'm on-

I'm-

It wasn't a dream.

I open my eyes.

I'm staring at the sterile white ceiling of my _Enterprise_. My arms are strapped to my sides in safety restraints, and my pulse speeds up, seeing it. _What did I do_? I have two pillows under my head, two blankets on me, and the temperature in the room is above ship-normal, almost to Spock's preferred temperature. I open my mouth to call for Bones-

-and pain rips through me. I start to cough, each one sending ripping agony down my throat to my entire body. I can't stop, I can't breathe. I push myself up on an elbow, gagging, and that hurts, too.

Running footsteps, and then McCoy's hand is on my back, lifting me, supporting me. He rubs gently, supports my head and offers me water, which I gratefully accept.

"Sips." He says, voice low and near my ear. "Little sips, Jim."

When I stop coughing, he laughs me back down, his machines beeping and whistling and sounding off all the dozens of little alerts that mean _your stubborn, bull headed patient has tried something too strenuous too fast, doctor. _Only, this time, I didn't.

I only tried to speak.

Panting, I look up at Bones, who is looking back down with concern in his eyes.

"Jim," He says, softly, "don't do that again. You've taken some serious damage to your throat. It'll heal, but it's going to take time."

I can't…..speak? I touch my throat tentatively, and notice the bandage on my hand. McCoy begins a rundown on just what the Avios did to me, and with each injury he lists, I remember the action taken to cause it. The claws ripping through my flesh, the clamps methodically breaking every. last. finger, the good old fashioned kicks when all else failed- and the _thing_ they stuffed down my throat, something hot and squirming, that burned it's way down and was regurgitated later to hurt just as badly coming back up. A living creature, a worm with too many legs, as long as my hand.

And Bones says it will heal?

I turn my head and eyes from him, and he catches my chin in a firm, unyielding grip.

"_Don't_." He says, so feircly that my eyes widen. "Do not run away from me to find your Captain's mask, Jim Kirk."

Captain's mask? Only Bones would call it that. Only Bones would snarl at me for doing my job, for trying to gather myself and put away the pain and the cold, chilling fear.

I squeeze his hand once, fiercely. He seems satisfied, and his gaze softens. "Spock and I fought our way in." He says, reading the question in my eyes. He knows me well enough that I don't _need_ words, not with Bones. "Spock found out where they were holding you with that mind-hoodoo he does. We got you out, back to the _Enterprise_, and we ran like rabbits with the hounds on our furry bunny butts."

I grin crookedly; he's trying. 'Spock'? I mouth, and he jerks a thumb towards the hall.

"On the bridge, doing your job for you, you lazy brat." He gives my arm a gentle smack. "I plan on keeping you down here for at least another two weeks-"

_Aw, Bones-_

"And _don't_ argue with me, Jim, you're _hurt_, you almost _died_, damn it."

And suddenly I'm less amused that he seems able to read my mind and more striken at what I see in his eyes.

Fear.

Sonofabitch.

Bones was _scared_ for me.

'Bones-'-

"Damn it, Jim." He raps, sitting down abruptly. "You were _bad_. You'd lost too damn much blood. Your ribs were almost crushed. I nearly lost you twice just getting you out of there, and then-" He presses a hand to his mouth, a gesture that is more _mine_ then his. "Then even when I got you up here, it was close. And Jim, you kept- you kept fighting us. I had to strap you down-" He motions to the restraints, now loose from me. "-and you _still_ fought. You kept reopening injuries. You _stubborn_, self-sacrificing _fool_."

And then he's hugging me, once, quick and hard, and I tentatively bring my arms up, too until he lets go.

_I'm sorry, Bones_.

He searches my face, sees it. And I _am_ sorry, but I'd do it again. I'd put myself in the place of my men, my _friends_, my _family_ any chance you gave me. Bones would say it's selfish.

Maybe it is, I don't know.

But I'm sorry, and he sees it, and he also sees that it doesn't change anything.

"Aw, Jim." He says softly, standing slowly. "You scared me, you idiot. I don't like thinking I won't be able to put you back together. I don't like knowing one day-"

_That hasn't happened yet._ So like what I've said before, once before, to a pretty yeoman on a paradise world. _You won't let it happen, Bones, you'll put humpty dumpty back together. Always do. Always will. You and Spock, you'll keep me together. _

"Stop _looking_ at me like that, damn it, I'm not a miracle worker!" But his hands are gentle as he removes the final restraint and uses his hands to confirm his medical readings. He's always been old-fashioned that way, but I think now he's doing it just to give us both comfort. He needs to know I'm here, and real, and alive; I need to know it, too. His touch sooths me, relaxes me. My Bones is here, and I'm on my _Enterprise_, and I am safe and healing and warm.

I am _safe and healing,_ Bones. You saved me.

My hero.

"Oh, get that snaky look off your face. _Sir_."

Ow! Bones, roughness with the hypo….is not…nessic….

For the fourth time, my world fades to black. This time, I don't fight the sleep. I am very tired.

And I am safe.

______________________


	2. Chapter 2

The next time I wake up, it's dark. To my surprise, Bones is asleep in a cot next to me, curled on his side protectively and snoring gently. It's a sound that's as warm and familiar to me as the _Enterprise_ herself; he's never been loud about it, but years of being around him and sharing rooms, sleeping within feet of each other and so on has taught me that the low, almost purr of Bone's snore is one of the few unchanging constants in my life.

I must really have been close to the edge, if Bones is here.

I remember, and don't try to speak. There's a drink on the table next to me that I take gratefully, sipping the water and considering my situation.

A captain can't be one unless he can speak. Bones said that my condition is temporary, and from his words and behavior, I was wounded badly enough to make it a mute point, anyhow. But I'm healing, _now_, and I still can't speak, and that scares me more then I'll let anyone see.

Bones, next to me, seems to sense I'm awake. I smile to myself as he stirrs, aware of my presence, like a guard dog reacting to the touch of his ward. Bones persists in thinking of me as a younger brother, even while acknowledging me as his captain, and I will never understand how he balances the two out in his mind. But I'm grateful for it.

"Jim?" He sits up now, instantly alert. "Alright?"

I nod, motioning to the water. Just like before, he seems perfectly able to read my mind without use of Spock's mindmeld or verbal help. He just _knows_, somehow.

"Just keep sipping it, slow. Your body is still recovering, and your throat's too swollen to handle anything too fast. I'm going to have to feed you intravenously, Jim." He adds, after a pause, and I feel a wave of cold, then heat.

_No_.

"Jim, don't-"

_No. Absolutely not. _

"Stop _looking_ at me like that. You need nourishment, and your throat can't handle solid foods- hell, your _body_ can't handle them right now-"

_I said __**no**_**. **

"Damn it, _Jim_, what do you expect me to do?" He throws his hands up. I set my jaw, met his eyes with all the defiance I can, looking at him as if he were a Klingon captain instead of my best friend. I'm still his superior officer. He can pull rank on me medically if he wants, but he'll have to.

I know I'm being stupid and stubborn. But if you've never had the experience of being fed that way, you can't understand why I'm so set against it. It's unpleasant and humiliating, and I don't want anyone- _anyone- _seeing me that way.

"Jim, you're human. You're _just_ human, and badly hurt-"

_I said __**no**_**, **_that's what I meant. I'll fight you every step of the way, Bones. _

"…….fine. You don't want it, you want to play at being some immortal, super-human figure, _fine_." He bites out tightly. Then he softens, sighs at me. And I do mean _at_ me. McCoy is one of the few people who can pull that off. "We'll see what we can do." He says. "But if it doesn't work, I don't have much other choice."

He knows it's not just that I don't like the thought of being seen that way. He _knows_ it, and he can't pretend he doesn't. I don't like being helpless. I've _been_ helpless, once, more then once, I don't mean to be that way again in my life if I can control it.

Plus, it brings back unpleasant memories. He doesn't know and won't ever know about the aftermath of Tarsus; none of them will, if I have a say in it. But it's part of how I know how much I hate the process.

Let's be honest, it's mostly why I hate the process.

"Sorry." He adds in a mutter, settling back down on the cot. "You need anything, Jim?"

Why yes, actually, the restroom. Badly. But I don't plan on being escorted. I point instead, and he smirks at me.

"Think you can make it without tripping over your own two feet?"

Thank you, Bones, you're hilarious. I pull myself out of bed, ignoring his comment, and pause, holding the wall and the bed itself for support-

"Joking aside, do you need help?" He asks quietly from behind me, and I shake my head 'no'. I just need a minute to recoup. I breathe a second or two, then start to walk, slowly. It hurts. My ribs creak in protest, and my right leg isn't bending _at all_. Breathing is shallow and fast, and that hurts, too; my world tilt and archs dizzily with each step. But after a moment, it settles down. Bones is watching, keeping himself from hovering with sheer willpower, but out of the bed and ready to dive for me should I fall.

I don't. I make it to the bathroom and back without more then a stagger; Bones is waiting by the bed to take my arm all the same when I get back all the same. I grunt a protest-apparently I can do _that_ just fine- but he ignores it, taking my weight with some effort.

"Alright, don't whine at me." He mutters, voice slightly strained- I'm just plain bigger then him, even if he's taller.

_I don't whine_. He eases me down on the edge of the cot, helps me lay back. _Stop fussing._

"….You know, Jim, when I can read your expressions like that I know I've been around you too long." Bones mutters from above me. "You nearly died on me, Jim, I'll hover if I want."

I'd been hurt, I know that; but I still can't quite grasp how serious it must have been. I can't remember most of it; the blow to the head, plus it's human nature to block out things that are too much for us to handle until we're ready to face it. Sometimes that's never-sometimes out subconscious locks things away and hides them forever.

I wonder if that will happen now. If I will simply never regain memory of that place, those people, beyond that they exist and they possess a frightening level of cruelty.

….I don't mind the thought. Normally I might worry that that makes me a coward, or weak, but right now, I can't care.

_I'm fine now, though._ I will him to understand the look, the smile, as I push up on an elbow. Bones says I could charm the fish from a grizzly bear with that smile; but he is more frightening then any bear I've ever heard of, when he wants to be.

He puts a hand in the middle of my chest and shoves me back down at almost no effort. It _does_ unnerve me to be so physically weak; I feel like a new born kitten.

"Swear to you, Jim, I will sedate you into next week if you don't lay still." He crawls into his own bed, next to me. "If you need anything, _wake me up_, don't try to do it your stubborn self."

_Who, me?_

He snorts. "I know _that_ look, too. Those innocent eyes aren't fooling anyone." He watches the machines for a moment, then, satisfied; "Try to get some rest. If I'm not here, I'll be close by, or Nurse Chapel will be within earshot."

I want to ask what's happening on my bridge; my injured men, Avios, everything I've slept through.

But this time, the exhaustion is completely natural. Nearly dying wears a man out, apparently.

"I said _sleep_, Jim." Gently, but firm; Bone's voice is unyielding, and I hear the warning in it. He'll make me, if I don't give into it.

There's no reason why I shouldn't, so I do.

* * *

I wake strapped down again, but at least I know where I am immediately. I don't fight the straps and I _don't_ try to speak; instead, I lay and stare at the ceiling until Bones walks in, carrying a PADD and refusing to look at me.

"Finally awake again, I see." He says after a moment.

_Why am I…._ I open my mouth, and then snap it shut quickly as pain flares when I try to speak. At least I don't start to cough. It's more like someone ran a flame down the inside of my throat, lighting everything on fire just for a split second.

"Jim…." He sets the PADD down, checking my readings and reaching out to gently begin removing the straps. "What do you remember, about Avios, anything?"

……A lot, actually. More then I'd like to think about or admit to. But I want to know why I'm restrained again. I'd rather know _that_ then remember in vivid detail what it was-

"Because you kept saying, _take me_." He goes on quietly, and I feel my heart _stop_.

He meets my eyes, his own quiet and gentle. He's not looking at me with pity- he knows what I bad idea that would be, knows exactly how I would react to it-but there is _empathy_ there, and that is pure Bones.

_Take me_.

_A voice, rasping and dry with pain, carrying through cell after empty cell, all empty but one other, where __**she**__ is. Young and beautiful and more badly hurt even then him, she has been here for months. She is very gentle, and tries to help him when she can, and she can't be any older then fourteen. Just a baby, just a little girl-_

"-Jim?" A hand on my shoulder and I jump, lurching away as far as I am allowed. My reaction startles him almost as much as it startles me- I don't think I've ever pulled away from him. I don't remember ever fearing touch, ever having a reason to.

_I don't. I was just startled. _

He seems to read it. I look away, and his hand tightens on me. "What was it?"

_I don't want to t-er, think about it._

He lets go of me slowly. "Jim, if I remove these restraints, and you start thrashing around again, you could seriously injure yourself or one of my nurses." He says coolly, and the anger is hiding in his voice, below the concern. "You're strong, Jim- you're no Spock but you belted nurse Chapel in the face last night and damn near broke her nose."

_Oops._

I flinch slightly, turning to face him again. _._ Noted, apology to come. I owe the poor woman that; from his face, I'd say that was the least of what I'd done. He acknowledges the apology on my face, and snorts, but his expression softens. "Whatever you're keeping from me is what's sending you into violent dreams at night, so you have two choices." He folds his arms. "You spend the next remaining two weeks in restraints, or you let me know what's going on up here." His finger raps the side of my head lightly.

I don't want to remember her. Or what they did to her. I don't want to remember what she'd looked like the last time she'd come back, beaten and bruised so badly that I'd barely been able to tell what she looked like under the injuries. So weak she couldn't cry. Bleeding from a place no woman should ever bleed, loosing so much of it-and nothing I could do. No way I could save her. Helpless. Just one cell over, just outside of arm's reach, and I hadn't been able to do anything but comfort her while-comfort her.

I don't want to think about it. I turn my head away again and close my eyes, my refusal unchanging and unflinching. Call me stubborn ,stupid, a coward, a fool- I don't care. I've heard it all and words, frankly, don't mean anything to me. And if it had been you there, you who had seen that little girl, who had watched as the gentlest little soul you had ever seen, as it was fouled and destroyed slowly just because she was _human_-you wouldn't want to remember that, either.

Bones sighs from behind me. "Restrained it is, then." He says quietly, sounding equal parts angry and sad. I think it scares him, seeing me like this, _knowing_ something horrible happened and unable to reach me to help.

He's always been able to reach me.

But it's more then a lack of speech that's keeping us apart now. I know I'm building a wall, but knowing it doesn't mean I can _stop _it; and I wonder if even Bones can tear this one down. I have the feeling he's sure as hell going to try.


	3. Chapter 3

"He's hiding something."

"I would think that obvious. While he was injured badly, I should think it would take more then physical pain to cause the distress he displays nightly."

"'Distress', Spock? The man has screaming nightmares and you call it 'distress'?"

"He hardly screams, doctor."

"You'll excuse me if the line between 'calling out' and 'screaming' feels pretty thin to me when it's_ Jim_, Spock. He shouldn't even be _speaking_."

"I do find it odd, that he can not speak when awake, but at night seems to have full capability-"

"Desperation will push a man through pain, Spock. Sometimes our _human emotions _are enough to give us that edge."

"I do not see how damaging himself by over-working his throat is an 'edge' of any kind."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"What does he say?"

"A name. Over and over again. And _take me_, or _take me instead_. I didn't see anyone else down there, Spock, did you?"

"Which leads me to believe that he or she-"

"She."

"You sound certain."

"The name is Mika. Now, I guess that could be a male name, also, but it sounds female to me."

"Which leads me to believe _she_, then, was killed sometime before we rescued the Captain."

"In just two weeks, Jim was almost dead. It's not-you'll excuse me for saying so, Mr. Spock-totally illogical to assume that someone else down there _was_ beaten to death, if she'd been down there longer especially."

"And knowing him as we both do, it is a logical assumption that Jim blames himself for allowing that death."

"And all thanks to the Avios. _Damn_. To beat a girl to death. To beat _anyone_ to death. And what they did to Jim-how could _anyone_-"

"Your own race is not exempt from such methods of torture."

"Just because some of my ancestors might have done it doesn't mean I find it any less despicable, Spock!" Flesh meeting a flat surface, hard, open handed. "I'm not in the mood to argue that, of all things, with you, right now. Jim's in there suffering, a girl is dead, Starfleet officials expect us to be ready and willing to met with them at the next port, and there's a very good chance this is going to turn into something far bigger than the _Enterprise_ and us. I don't need more stress on my plate right now. Go to bed, Spock, it's _late_."

"…..I find myself unable to meditate, doctor, and without that sleep is quite impossible for me."

Soft sigh in the darkness of a room.

"So you decided to come in here and harass someone who _is_ tired?"

"I apologize, Doctor. It was not my intention to place more strain on you. Good-night."

"…..Aw, geez. Spock, wait, _wait_, I said, c'mere."

"I thought you were tired."

"I _am_, but so are you. Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bit your head off. Guess Jim's contagious that way."

"You do not need to blame the Captain for your own emotionalism, doctor."

"I just meant Jim's touchy when he's in a bad way, and I guess I am, too. Look, I've been sleeping in sickbay with him these past few nights. I can move another one of the beds over, but I'll need help. Might help you get some peace of mind if you can see 'im, be close to 'im. I know it helped me."

"Doctor, I do not need 'comfort' of any sort."

"Okay, you don't need comfort. _Jim_ does. Besides, you _are_ worried for him, same as me, you good as said it. Spock, there's nothing to be _ashamed_ of. He's your _friend_, isn't he?"

"….."

"Spock. Spock, he thinks of you like a _brother_-"

"I did not say 'no', Doctor. And if I may, I am not the only one he views as a brother."

"Yeah, well, I am. You never answered me."

"You already know the answer, doctor McCoy, you are simply trying to force me to _say_ it, as you often try to force an emotional reaction where there is none."

"Poppycock, there is none."

"Pardon me?"

"Heh. Like right there."

"I did not follow you here to be insulted-"

"Oh, come _on_, Spock, I'm _teasing_. Look, I know-no, don't go running away from me-I know you care for Jim and I. You don't have to say it, you don't have to show it, you can be as Vulcan as you like and it doesn't change a thing. I just pick at you sometimes. I don't mean anything by it. You know I don't, don't you?"

"I am aware you do not intend genuine insult, doctor. Nor do I."

"Good. You know you mean as much to me as Jim does, don't you?"

"Doctor, I-"

"I just want to be sure."

"I am aware, Leonard."

"…..Good. Now, let's make sure our Jim's got his two better parts around to keep the dreams at bay."

"Or, perhaps, find the source of them, and eradicate them."

"Sounds like a plan to me. Now help me move this bed, and we'll get you settled in."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

I am aware of two presences beside me instead of one, first. One is on the left, the other on my right; I turn left, first. Bones. Not a shock, he's been there every time I've woken up, almost. Curled on his side almost protectively, his hand is resting on my arm, as if even in sleep offering comfort. I feel a surge of affection and warmth for the man who is like a brother to me, who filled a gap that was like an open wound when Sam and I went our separate ways, and then later, when he and his wife died. I hope Peter finds his own Bones; someone older and steadier, who will be there to catch him when he stumbles.

I turn to the right, next-and there is Spock. I haven't seen him since my rescue, and somehow it makes things feel more cemented, more _real_, now that my other part is by my side, where he belongs. People have taken to calling us The Big Three when they think we can't hear; and so often, instead of referring to us by separate names, I hear us addressed as The Trio. Never to my face; as if I'd mind. It just confirms what I already know-I am not complete without these two men. The _Enterprise_ crew is my family, but Spock and Bones are my _brothers_. And it was not right, not even, without him here, too. He's stretched out on his back, hands neatly by his side and slender, graceful fingers lax in repose beside him. Strange to see them still; Spock's hands are always moving, unless clamped properly behind his back.

I feel warm and comforted, blocked in on either side by them. And touched, that they are here, rather then their own quarters. I close my eyes and lean my head back, aware that the burning pain in my throat is dull, as if fading.

No dreams, then. Did they really back off just because Spock and Bones are beside me?

Movement. Spock stirs, quietly, somehow awakened by my own wakefulness, and his eyes open. "Jim?" He asks softly, as if to not wake Bones.

_I'm okay_. I smile, and to my surprise, he gently reaches out. "May I?" He asks, and not sure what he's asking permission to do- but knowing I'll probably be okay with it, whatever it is- I nod. His hand comes to my arm, curling those slender fingers around my flesh. And he closes his eyes, and suddenly I can _feel_ something, familiar but foreign, warm and strong in my mind, covering it like a wool blanket, making me have the completely irrational urdge to squirm like a child into the real blanket and go back to sleep.

_Now, Jim. I am sensing your surface thoughts only. _

Well, there go thoughts of sleep. I'm startled but not frightened, and he gives me that _not smile_ as his voice enters my mind without any trace of his lips moving.

_I'm okay_. I repeat, and this time it's not just _as if_ he could understand me- he _can_.

_You have not had another dream?_

_Nah. You two seem to be keeping the things that go bump well and clear away. _

_Things that go 'bump', Captain?_

_Spock, you're talking in my __**mind**__, I think you can call me 'Jim'. You've done it before. _I want to laugh. It's the first time in a long time I've wanted to laugh. _Havn't you heard the saying? 'Things that go bump in the night?' Actually, it's 'From ghoulies and ghosties, and long-leggedy beasties, and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!' It's Scottish, I think, an actual prayer. _And an old one.

_We have oft encountered all of the above. Or things that take on those forms._ He says, thoughtfully, eyes drifting shut, though not with tiredness. He's simply relaxed and comfortable, and I feel proud and warm that he's so at ease with speaking to me this way.

_Well, Mr. Spock, we've gotten clear of them each time, so….._ I grin a little. _Besides, it's our job to make sure those long-leggedy beasties are harmless. Or made that way. I guess we're one form of the Lord's protection, since he doesn't exactly do Old Testament anymore. _

_You are a believer, Captain?_

_I am. _I smirk. _Bones, too. _

_Are not doctors usually Atheist?_

_Usually._ I reply. _But Bones is a good old southern boy, he says it enough himself. He was brought up religious and chose to stay that way. Same here. _

_Vulcans do not have religion._ He says mildly. _Does that upset you?_

_No, Spock._ I'm surprised he even asked. _Not all humans get upset because someone believes differently then them. I'd think you'd know me better. _

_I apologize. You should try to rest more, Jim. _

_Don't. It's alright. _

_Will you be well?_ He asks quietly, his grip already loosening on me. I feel sleep, like a heavy fog, draping down over my eyes as his presence begins to retreat from my mind.

_How many times are you two going to ask that? I'm fine._

_I can not keep the things that go bump away if you do not allow me, Jim. Nor can Doctor McCoy. _He says, and suddenly his eyes are open, and he's looking hard at me, and Lord, I want to tell him, show him, be rid of it.

But I can't.

_You're doing a good job_. I say, _For not being able to do a good job_.

And then I pretend to want to sleep until he lets go.


	4. Chapter 4

_It is dark where they are kept, and at first he's not even aware that someone else is in the building with him. He only is alerted to it by the sound of someone crying, quietly, in the darkness in the cell next to his own. _

_There are lots of cells here, as if a lot of prisoners were supposed to be there. He thought he was the only one. It would seem, now, that he is not. _

_He can not walk. His right leg won't take any weight, and anyway, it hurts to stand up. But she's crying incessantly, and so after about a half an hour of it, he finds himself crawling to the other cell and gripping the bars gently. _

_In the gloom, he can just see her, and some of the humanity that started ebbing out of him weeks ago floods back in. She is young; so very young. She is wearing a tattered brown dress, and her hair might once have been red, when it was clean. Her skin might have been fair, and he can imagine she probably has freckles, with those green eyes of hers; a true, natural redhead, and at least humanoid, if not human. She __**looks**__ human, but then, many races could pass perfectly for human. So he thinks humanoid, to be safe. _

_And no older then fourteen. _

_He wants to speak, to comfort her. To make her, at least, stop crying. He could never stand a woman, a girl, crying; it put his hackles on end and ate at him until he could sooth her somehow. He struggles, and it is painful, but at last he manages, in something little better then a croak; _

"_Hush now. Hush, we're okay." _

_He pays for it, dearly; the cough rips from him, chokes him, and for a long time he can't breathe. He thinks he might vomit again, or pass out (again.) But he does neither, and when he looks up, panting softly, those green eyes are on him and she's inches away. _

"_I thought I was alone." She whispers, and she's got a soft, French accent. Human, alright. Beautiful little voice for a beautiful girl. She'd be a stunning woman, some day. _

"_Me, too." He manages, and this time does not choke. She smiles at him, wiping away her tears. _

"_Who are you?" She asks, but he can't force words out again, no matter how hard he tries. Finally, he reaches forward, takes her hand through the bars and writes J-I-M carefully on the back of it with a finger. She shivers, as if it tickles, which it probably does. _

"_Jim? Hi, Jim, I'm Mika." She greets, and her voice would be a cheerful little chirp, under normal circumstances. "D'you really think we'll be okay?" _

_No. Not at all. But he nods, and points up, at the ceiling. She follows his finger, brow furrowed, and head tilted. _

"_Something up there?" She asks. "On the ceiling? No, not the ceiling, of course not. In the sky, then? You're from a ship, too?" _

_He nods. She's not stupid, anyway. _

"_My family's ship crashed here. It was just a personal little ship, my dad was a merchant." _

_Was. Dead. Tortured to death, probably, like she was meant to be. Like he was meant to be, too. _

_He does not tell her he is a captain; she figures it out on her own, his hand still gripping hers, as she sees the tattered remains of his shirt. The bars on his sleeve; alert her, and she yanks at him. He grunts with pain, and she whispers an apology in French. _

"_That's why you're so sure." She murmurs. "You're from the Federation! This means Captain, right?" She caresses the bars. He nods, giving her a little smile. She returns it. _

"_Papa taught me. Three bars is a captian, and two is first officer, right?" _

_Her father knew a great deal about Starfleet, he thinks, but she is charming, and a breath of fresh air in this horrible place, and thinks no more about it. _

_The dream fades, swirls, grows foggy and distant and he knows it's a dream, but he can't change it, can't stop it. _

_He is there again, and he hurts, he hurts so badly he can not move, can hardly think. He can hear them, can hear them hurting her worse then they hurt him, even, doing things to her that no woman let alone little girl should ever have done to them. Raping her, tearing her apart from the inside, and her screams echoing, echoing, and he can't even move. _

_They throw her back in the cell, and she lays limp and sobbing. _

"_Mr. Jim," She says after minutes, hours, who knows how long of it. "Mr. Jim, are you still alive?" _

_What a thing for a fourteen year old girl to ask. What a thing for her to even have to think. _

_He wants to cry for her. He wants to kill them, every last one of them, with his bare hands, wants to rip their feathers out by bloody handfuls and pour salt on the exposed wounds. Wants to hurt them, wants to __**kill them**__, is alive with a vicious bloodlust he's never known before. _

_He wonders if this is what Spock was thinking, during his Pon Farr, on Vulcan. He wonders if this is what he meant by 'My blood burns', because that is what Jim feels, now. _

_My eyes burn, my blood burns, I burn, Jim burns, he wants them dead, he wants revenge, he wants them to hurt like she is hurting, like he is hurting. He no longer feels human. He no longer feels anything but tired, and hungry for blood, and that terrifies him because he is not a cruel man, not a vicious man. _

_This is what Jim is, under everything that makes him Jim. Under everything that makes him __**human**__. _

_He raps on the floor to tell her he is still alive, if that is what you can call what he is. _

"_It hurts." She whimpers. "When are we leaving?" _

_Oh, Lord. Oh, Mika. Oh darling, if I only knew. I wish I could know. He drags himself up, drags himself to the bars, and reaches a hand through them. Hers lands in it, and it is slick with her own blood. _

_Mika. Hang on. They'll come. Before you die, before I go insane, they'll come. _

_They'll come. They'll come. They'll come. They'll come……._

_Screaming. Screaming like never before as the dream changes again and no, no, he doesn't want to see this he doesn't want to remember this no please no. But he can't wake up, Spock, Bones, I want to wake up, wake up, Jim, it's a dream __**wake up**__, but the screaming drags him back down into the dream and he is in the cell again, on the cot again, and she is shrieking, brokenly, raggedly, and he is screaming, too. His throat is on fire and he can't breath, but he is roaring, with all the force in his body, with all the not inconsiderable command he possesses, __**roaring**__as they drag her away. Leave her alone, leave her alone, you monsters, demons, stop hurting her, stop killing her- __**take me, damn it, take me!**_

_But they will not stop. They will not listen. _

_And when she is thrown back into the cell, bleeding and broken, broken in so many places, like a doll thrown carelessly to the floor, porcaline doll shattered in the dark, and he rasps her name desperately, Mika, please, answer me, Mika. Darlin', come on, please, Mika, don't do this, babe, little sweetheart, petite, Mika. _

_Just a little girl. Just a __**baby.**_

_Her green eyes, welling with what he thinks is tears but is blood, and he vomits, and vomits, and can't stop. Blood from her eyes, her nose and ears and mouth and between her legs. So much blood between her legs. Her stare does not see him. _

_Mika, please, they'll come. Hang on. They'll come and take you from here. _

_Hang on. _

_But she is gone, with a few final, laboured breaths, no longer desiring life, too broken, too hurt. _

_He lays on the floor, and feels something crack and die with her. _

_He hopes they do not come. _

___________________________

I wake with the cry caught in my chest, couldn't give it voice even without my injury. _Mika_. I am confused, disoriented, because someone is holding me down and breathing my name, over and over, in my ear, and someone's hands are on my face.

It takes me a moment to wake up enough to know what happened, and my stomach bottoms out.

_He wouldn't. They wouldn't._

But it is undeniable, with Spock pulling away and Bones slowly letting go of me, his eyes averted. Refusing to look at me.

"I'm sorry, Jim." He says quietly, busying himself with his machines, and his voice sounds like it comes from a thousand miles away. "The dream started, and we had to- you wouldn't tell us what happened, who 'Mika' is-Spock didn't want to. Don't take this out on him. I pulled rank, told him it was medical-"

I don't hear it. My blood is rushing in my ears, my pulse is racing, and that same burning rage, that bloodlust, soars up from the dream into reality. I grit my teeth until my jaw creaks.

"Get……_out." _

They both stop in surprise. The burn in my throat is minor, nothing compared to the rage I am fighting with all my might. Violated. Forced into remembering. Pushed past where I wanted to be. Betrayed, wounded-damn them, damn them _both for even daring to look when I said no, how dare you, how __**dare you**__-_

"_Get __**out**__!" _I lurch against the straps, yank at them; I want to attack, want it so badly it hurts.

"Jim!" McCoy jumps back in surprise; beside me, Spock reaches forward, places his hand on my shoulder.

"Captain, Jim, you misunderstand what occurred-"

I don't care. I don't care. I don't even _hear_ him.

_Jim, please, listen_-

"Out of my **head!**" The straps threaten to give, and I fight them harder. "Get away! Both of you _get the hell out_!"

"He's completely irrational-"

"Hypo him."

"Spock-"

"_Hypo him_, he is going to injure all of us."

I hear the words only distantly, hear them under a roaring veil of red rage. I don't understand them. I don't even want to.

I just want to _hurt_ someone.

There is a pinch at my neck, and I snarl, lashing out but I can't, the straps catch me, and I buck, twisting hard. Somewhere, a hand lands on my head.

"Oh, Jim." Someone says, very softly, and for one second the rage lifts, for one moment I am coherent-

-but I can't be, because Bones would never cry in front of Spock.

Blackness.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

"…..Doctor."

"That wasn't Jim. Damn it, Spock, that wasn't _Jim_."

"I'm afraid it very much was. Twisted, perverted, hurting so deeply that even I may not reach the place he is in, but it is Jim."

"I can't….._shit_." Forehead to forehead with the sleeping Captain. "That was just the surface of it, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Damn them to _hell_ for this." Fist impacting with a smooth surface. Muffled sob. Awkard shuffle back, a long fingered hand reaching for a bowed back, then pulling away. Reaching again, to land gently on the curve of shoulders.

"Doctor?"

"My name is _Leonard_, Spock, damn it, can't you just for _once_-"

"I assure you, I am troubled by Jim's behavior. But it will fade with time. He is still recovering, and that does mean mentally, as well. He reacted irrationally due to the emotion of the dream- when he wakes, we will explain, and he will listen, more calmly, and understand what occurred. You know that as well as I do-"

"I'm not _worried about that_, Spock, he's-hell. You don't even understand, do you? For us _humans_, it's hard to watch someone we love _hurt_ like this!"

"…….as you are so fond of reminding me, doctor. I am half-human."

"…..oh, damn it, Spock. I didn't-"

"I am aware. Perhaps you should try to rest. I will watch him."

Broken laugh. "Like I can _sleep_ after seeing that. Knowing there's more."

"Staying awake will not help."

"Our day starts in two hours, anyway, Spock, I'll stay up, too."

"As you wish."

"Heh. If that were true, none of this would be happening."


	5. Chapter 5

When I wake, I am alone, and for a brief moment there is panic. I remember….anger. So much hot, savage anger, some deep and red-hot it scares me. I remember yelling, _ragging_, and I remember focusing it on-

Oh. That's why I'm alone.

I close my eyes, allowing the memory to come back. It's foggy; mixed up with irrational anger and a dream, a-a-dream…..memory. Mika.

I'd dreamed Mika. My eyes snap open, and I'm suddenly aware I'm breathing hard and fast. I force it to slow down, swallowing once, twice- it hurts, still- and clenching and unclenching my fists. Spock would never _force_ me to dream that. He would never invade my mind that way, manipulate my thought and dreams maliciously. I don't remember what he did do-and I remember he did _something_- but it wasn't malicious.

I remember reacting like it was. I take one deep breath, two. I'm still angry, still hurt, but the blinding rawness, the desire to lash out, is gone.

My arms have deep bruises from fighting the straps. I hurt, all over, a full body ache with no centered point. I close my eyes and wait until I hear footsteps, then open them again.

Bones hovers in the doorway.

I smile slightly. _Stop looking at me like I'm going to bite or break. _

He twines his hands behind his back, his eyes half-lidded and focused hard on me. "Do I need to tell Spock it's time to face the music?" He asks softly; he thinks I'm going to pull rank. I could. Even mute, I could. For what they did. But I know _why_ they did it; and besides, I can't take real disciplinary action on those two. They're my friends; my brothers. I _need_ them, and I'm smart enough to admit it.

I shake my head _no_. He moves closer, slowly, and the doors hiss shut behind him. "Look, Jim, I know, what we did was wrong."

This time, I nod _yes_, subtly.

"But we _didn't_ do what I think you think we did."

_I understood that, Bones, who's spending too much time with who?_

"Don't give me that _look_." He brushes a hand through his hair.

_So what did you do?_ My lips thin, and I wish I could sit up. Breathing when laying flat hurts; it's hard. Our personal arguments and feelings don't even make him hesitate the second he notices; he steps closer, undoing the restraints, and gently lifts me to lean on the headrest.

_What did you do_?

"You started the dream." He says slowly, taking a seat on the edge of my cot. He spreads his hands over the bed, looking down at it. "We tried to wake you up, you wouldn't. Tried to calm you down; you wouldn't."

_It's a dream, wake up, Jim, __**wake up**__-_ I remember that now. Distantly, like something half forgotten-but I do remember hearing it.

"So I talked Spock into looking. Just looking, Jim. He didn't make you dream what you did, he didn't manipulate or change anything, he just- looked." He looks up at me at last, blue eyes serious and intense. "Jim, you've been nearly hysterical in your sleep, these past few weeks. You're badly hurting yourself, other people- you couldn't tell me, Jim, even if you could speak. Some things, they're hard to talk about, and what you saw-"

_Stop. Stop there._ I make a slashing motion in the air. He listens, taking a deep breath.

"You woke up, and you, I guess, you thought we'd _made_ you have the dream. You were- Jim, I think we need-" He stops again, and when he speaks, it's his CMO voice. "Jim, Starfleet wants to meet with us at the next port, speak to you in person-um, in a sense. I think you should talk to someone about what happened there. You were violent when you woke up, Jim- you wanted to hurt us."

I feel-cold, for a moment, my throat working. Soundlessly, of course, because I can't even speak.

"That's another thing they're concerned about, Jim." He says gently, and he won't look at me again. "That you-there's a chance your voice won't come back, Jim; ever."

The cold becomes frigid.

"It's been over three weeks, Jim." He goes on, slowly. "And the swelling hasn't even begun to go down."

_Ever. _

Mute. Mute, forever. In pain, forever, loosing the _Enterprise_, loosing my position, my crew, my family, and while I miss Earth, I'm sure one day I will be happy to retire and live out the rest of my life there, now the thought of being _forced_ to stay there, of being _trapped_ there, scares me. Terrifies me.

"Jim-" He reaches for my face, touches it with his fingertips. "Jim, I'm so-sorry."

_You're giving up on me? Not like you, Bones. _I reach up to take his hand, squeeze his wrist.

It's as if he reads me. He _does_ read me. He knows me, he always has.

"Jim, I'd say you could talk- or whatever-to me, but I can't remain objective, you know that."

I don't need objectivity, and I don't need to _talk_ to anyone, no one but Bones, anyway, and Spock. As for my throat-if anyone can fix it, Bones can, and if he can't-well. I'll cross that bridge when and if I have to. I refuse to think about it, refuse to acknowledge it as a possibility. I won't loose to this.

I _won't_.

I tighten my grip on his wrist. I remember that red-hot violence, the rage, the _bloodlust_. So foreign to me, terrifying and completely targeted at _the wrong people_. That's festering in me. Growing in me, like a virus, like a disease.

If telling someone is the way to kill it, then that's what I'll have to do, no matter how much it hurts.

But now- I can't now.

"….Damn it, Jim." He says gently, pulling his hand away. "What am I going to do with you?"

I grin, crookedly, and he returns it.

_Let me apologize to Spock, for one_.

He nods, understanding, and goes over to the comm. "Sick bay to bridge-Spock, we need you down here."

There is a pause that is entirely too long.

"I shall be down momentarily, doctor-"

"_Now_, Spock."

There is a startled pause, and I can imagine everyone on the bridge shooting each other nervous, uncertain looks.

"I am on my way." Comes the next reply, and the connection is cut. He turns and looks at me.

"You two have a pretty fragile line of trust." He says. "I think he assumes he broke it."

In a way, he has. I understand why they took the actions they did, but it doesn't make it any less uncomfortable. My reaction to it is only going to make the aftermath harder to deal with, and at least for a while, I think- I feel- how awkward things are going to be.

_It'll be alright- it's Spock_. I try to send the thought with a little shrug, a little smile, but if he sees it he's not buying into it. He's cynical; has always been, will always be, and in that way is my exact opposite. And right now, he's _scared_; for me, for our friendship.

But those things have been under strain before.

He clamp a hand gently on my shoulder. "I'll be in my office if either of you need me." He says quietly, as the doors hiss open with their familiar squealing hiss.

Spock strides in, hands behind his back, straight, eyes focused and locked on mine because Spock meets your eyes, always, no matter what- it's just who he is. But he doesn't like it, and I can only tell because I know him so well.

I smile, but he doesn't return it with that _not smile_ he gives so often; there's no trace of it on his eyes, which are normally stunningly expressive if you know how to look. I know my own is probably disgustingly fake, forced; and I can't change it. I still feel angry that they looked without permission; and there is still the unnatural rage, lurking behind everything else, the twitchy, irritable desire to break something heavy.

"Captain." He says softly, and I flinch. Bad sign. Always a bad sign, if Spock or Bones is using my title instead of my name, but that runs both ways.

'Jim'. I mouth.

"_Captain_, I must apologize for the actions I undertook last night-"

I am no longer strapped down, so I can sit up, can reach out to snag his sleeve. I want to speak to him. I bring his hand to my arm-

-and he yanks away as if I've burned him.

It's the only time he's ever pulled back from me. _Ever_

We stare at each other, and then, deliberately, slowly, he puts his hands behind his back again. It would almost be funny- I'm getting the silent treatment, in a way, or being forced to give it- if it wasn't so serious.

"I believe Doctor McCoy explained the situation to you?"

I nod, my head down and eyes on my bed. I can't say what I need to by writing it down. I can't mime it. I want to _talk to him_, damn it. I need to-I have to-I reach out again, and this time he takes a physical step back.

And suddenly, with Bones and Spock right there, feet from me, I am very much alone. It's my own fault, in part- but don't I have a right to be angry? Don't I have a right to be upset, to be hurt and sickened and yes, I overreacted but I didn't _mean to_, and I need them right now. I do, I really do, and of all the people who would abandon me when I need them most I never thought it would be Spock.

Bones is in the doorway. I don't know how long he's been there, but his expression is dark and disturbed. "Spock-" He say softly, and my first officer turns to him. "Spock, he's asking. Don't be afraid."

_Fear is a human emotion, doctor-_ I wait for the reply, snarky and prim, but it does not come. It does not come, and I realize there's nothing about abandonment here; he's _afraid._ Of _me_.

This entire situation is beyond what I am willing to tolerate. I'm a conflicted mess of angst, Bones doesn't know which way to jump, and now _Spock_,_ my Spock_, is _afraid_ of me?

Enough. This is all _so stupid_.

I lurch forward, pain flaring from still-healing wounds, and grab his upper arm, tugging him forward so he's forced to hit a knee on my bed. I grab his hand in mine, fiercely, tightly, and let myself _feel_. Sorrow, pain, confusion, fear, my rage that I don't understand, the anger that I do- he gasps, tries to pull away, somewhere I hear McCoy snarling my name.

Love. Affection, friendship, brotherliness, need, warmth, tenderness, protectiveness, protected by. I back it all up with _those_, I know he can sense it, read it, whatever it is he does with his telepathy, or empathy, or whatever he wants to call it.

He has stopped fighting me, and when I open my eyes, his hand grips my arms in return.

_Jim_, his voice says, warm in my mind, healing, soothing, comforting, _I am sorry._

I grin, gripping all the tighter. _No, but you will be, when I can speak again._ _You're lucky it's me, mister, or I could court-marshal your ass for what you did. _

He tugs to free a hand; I let him have it back, and it reaches to my face, light as a butterfly landing there. _But you will not. _

_Damn straight I will not. Neither one of you. You two keep me semi-sane, don't you? Do you think I'm that stupid? _

_Doctor McCoy believes you should see a specialist in regards to Mika. _

I feel the core of cold steel in my body again, the thought of being thought of as unbalanced (even if I am, a little, but I always _was_ if you ask Bones) of seeing a _psychiatrist_. No.

_The only person I plan on talking to is my own, highly capable, CMO._

_He will be unable to remain_

_-neutral, I know, but that's not what I want, anyway. _I look over at Bones, who is leaning on the wall, smiling slightly. We're going to be okay, and he's starting to feel it. _I want Bones, end of conversation. He knows. _

"Doctor?-"

"Jiim needs to eat and rest, Spock, and you need to get back up to the bridge." Bones has crossed the room when I wasn't looking, and now his hand rests on my shoulder. "We'll talk tonight."

Spock nods, and rises, brushing his hand a final time along my forehead. _Sleep well, Jim_.

_From ghoulies and ghosties-_

_We will protect you. _

My head and eyes snap up, but there is no change on his face, no _not smile_, just Spock, straight backed and straight faced- (but his eyes spark again, laughter and good humor that was vacant now back and it hurts how much I missed it) but he said it, none the less, and his voice-

-had been all human.

The good Lord had delivered me from them, alright. Perhaps not in the most traditional of forms, but he _had_, and as Bones moves to begin fussing over me I think I am the only one no longer afraid of what storms are about to come.

My brothers and my God will walk with me through them.


	6. Chapter 6

"Captain's log, first officer Spock remaining in temporary command.

It has been one month and four days since the capture and subsequent rescue of Captain James Kirk. Starfleet officials have met with us at Starbase five, and have given him a set time of recovery. If he is not physically and mentally well in sixty more days, he is to be grounded permanently.

Doctor Leonard McCoy has full responsibility of ensuring this recovery. Captain Kirk made his refusal to discuss his well being with any others abundantly clear, using myself as a medium.

Sixty days. Two months, and in that time not only must our captain face the horrors of what occurred, but win his battle to regain speech. Doctor McCoy has informed me that the damage is healing but only slowly, and he can think of no way to aid the process. He was able to reduce the swelling, making breathing easier, but Jim is still prone to fits of coughing brought about by damaged tissue, and primarily mute.

Slowly, he has begun to reveal to us more on the Mika child, and what was done to both of them by the Avios. A detailed report has already been sent to Starfleet, along with my recommendation on actions taken. If they attack the weak, it is only logical we demonstrate our strength, and impress upon them that actions such as they have taken will not go without retribution. I believe the next step they take, if this is left undone, will be more serious even then kidnapping a Starship captain."

_____________________________________________________________________________________

At least I'm no longer trapped in sickbay.

I haven't been to the bridge in the months since my rescue from Avios, but I have the run of the rest of the ship, although I have spent most of my time in someone's quarters- my own, or Spock's, or McCoy's.

I am healing, but it's slow. And that rage; that unnatural, flaming lust for revenge- it won't go away. It's part of why I'm staying tucked away in our quarters; I've exploded a few times at Bones and Spock since then, and I don't want the rest of the crew to see me like this.

I sit now in my own quarters, Spock and Bones sitting a few feet away, bickering good-naturedly at each other over some card game and occasionally bringing me into the conversation. The swelling has gone down enough in my throat that McCoy has started encouraging me to talk more. The problem is, as much as I want to- and I _do_ want to- something keeps stopping me. Fear of pain, I assumed, an instinctive flinch to prevent the inevitable, horrible coughing; but there's more to it then that.

I'm afraid if I start to speak, I'll break like a dam. I'm afraid of what I'll say, what I'll do; I'm afraid to fall. I know they want to catch me, but I'm afraid to let them. I shouldn't need them as much as I do, for one; for another, there's the thought that they don't deserve my weight. I shouldn't make the demands I do on them, of them.

"We have been contacted by Starfleet in regards to the Avios," Spock says now, and I don't know what they _were_ talking about but this is obviously news to McCoy, too. "I was informed you might like to know what actions are being taken."

_Not unless I'm told they destroyed that whole damn planet, down to every last-what the __**hell**__ am I thinking? _I grit my teeth and shake my head, willing the black thoughts away.

"What?" I rasp, and the searing pain isn't anywhere near what it had been. But they are giving me the Look, the one that means my thoughts were clear on my face, and I look down from both of them.

"What's being done, Spock?"

"A minor show of force." He says quietly, "followed by diplomats for negotiations. They will not go unpunished for what they did to you and that child, but destroying them is not something that was ever considered."

"Maybe it should have been." I snarl. I'm not aware I'm saying it until I've _said_ it, and then McCoy's gaze is burning holes in the back of my head.

"_Jim_. Start thinking like the monsters and you become the monsters."

I look up again, want to say, _you didn't see, you weren't there, you don't __**know**__- _but I've already shown, said, enough.

"Her death is avenged in the only way it can be." Spock says quietly, and damn it, they're just going to keep pushing, aren't they?

"They should be destroyed." I whisper. "Anahiliated. They're evil, doesn't anyone understand that?" I have to stop and swallow hard, trying not to cough. It doesn't work; I choke instead, and Bones is on his feet in heartbeats, offering a supportive hand and rubbing my back. It feels good, and even when I stop, I lean into it- he keeps rubbing, like petting a cat.

"What they did was evil." Bones says quietly. "That doesn't make _them_-"

"_Are you kidding me_?" I feel the familiar, terrifying _snap_, my hands fisting, my body straightening; I want to scream, yell, I want to _throw a temper tantrum_ is what I want to do, because I can't do what I _really _want and extract physical revenge on the tormenters that haunt my dreams.

"Let go, Jim," Someone says quietly, "let go, let go-" But I can't, I _won't_.

"They beat her. Tortured her, made you watch. Killed her. Trapped you, hurt you, may have ruined your life, Jim. You're angry. You're angry, and hurt, and no one in the world is here to see. _Let it go_."

I can't, I can't, I can't. Stop it, back off-

"Back off, Bones-"

"You can't heal until you do this, Jim. You can't get better. You can't move forward. Let go of it, give it to me, Jim, let me help you-"

"Us." Somewhere, there are hands. On my shoulders, and I realize I'm standing, inches from Bones, his hands on my arms, Spock behind me, steadying me, my hands shaking like I've been caught in an ice storm. And his voice, like when I couldn't speak at all- _Let go of it. _

And, with a roar, I do.

When the haze clears from my mind, my eyes, I am coughing violently, and Spock is leaning on a wall with his eyes closed, and most of my things are destroyed. Bones's hands are on my back- he's got a bruise under one eye- and I feel…..hollow. Empty.

Exhausted.

I catch my breath at last, look up at Bones who has tears in his eyes and over at Spock, who slowly opens his own and gives me his _not smile_.

"Better?" McCoy asks softly, and to my surprise- it is.

I nod, because I can't answer.

"Good." He says. "Now Jim, _now_, we can start worrying about your throat."


	7. Chapter 7

It's hard. I'm no longer afraid to speak, but the memory of pain is there, and it keeps stopping me. I know I have all of two months to be considered mentally and physically ready for duty again- and while Bones has declared me back to full emotional stability, physically, it's an uphill battle.

I will not lose.

It helps that I got a decently impressive reminder that Bones and Spock are not my only allies in this fight.

When I stepped on the bridge for the first time in nearly four months, I was stunned and more then a little embarrassed by the cheer that started with Uhura and quickly picked up. I faltered, backstepped into poor Bones, and knocked us both into the closed turbo lift doors. (Which, of course, promptly re-opened and spilled both of us to the floor. Not my most graceful return to duty, but hey, it was funny.)

Bones snarling curses under me, I pick myself up, grinning, and extend a hand.

"Gentle-men, ladies." I hear Spock say, his tone warning, and the cheer fades away, but when I tug Bones back to his feet, he's reflecting the grins of my entire crew.

I have to fight not to grin back. I'm home, I realize, at last. I'm home, and these people won't let me go without a fight of their own.

Not like I don't plan on fighting.

"Glad to see you back on your feet, Captain." Sulu greets warmly as I move down to my chair, running a hand over the back of it gently. I stare down at it, tightening my hand on the back and taking a deep breath.

"Glad to be here." I say honestly, with a grin, and my voice sounds horrible but it is my voice. Strong, and unbroken, and I don't start to hack like a cat with a hairball when I finish.

"Only for now." Bones snaps crankily from behind me, his hand pressing into the small of my back. "Our fearless leader is still recovering."

"But I am recovering." I return, and as if to make a liar out of me my throat takes that moment to go. At least I don't cough; I just loose my voice near the end of the words. I clear my throat, try again. "At the end of two months, I'll be good as new."

That hurts. It's not the scalding, ripping burn of before, but it _does_, and my voice fades out near the end again. I don't miss the concerned looks.

With the disappearance of the irrational rage Mika's death left me with, I now have room to feel that concern myself, and it swells at the base of my throat.

"Jim?"

Well, at least it doesn't hurt. But when I try to answer, no sound escapes. Nothing. I manage a crooked grin. Beautiful. Just as we start down the road of recovery, my body decides to take a massive leap back.

Somehow, I'm not entirely shocked.

I reach my hand out to Spock, and with an arched brow, he takes my arm willingly enough. Over the past few months we have both come to be accustomed to his being my 'translator', of a sort.

_I can't speak; at all._ I say gently, not able to hide the morbid amusement in my tone.

_Doctor Mccoy informs me that the swelling in your throat has gone down significantly enough to allow speech; along with your mental and physical recovery from your ordeal in Avios, you should healing . This is, logically, part of that process._

_Has to get worse before it gets better, in other words._ I translate, and his hand gently lifts from my arm.

"That is the general idea." He drawls, and I can practically hear the human dripping disdainfully from the sentence. I chuckle-soundlessly.

"Jim? Spock?" Bones is at my shoulder, his hand resting there, and I lean back into the warm, familiar contact just a little. I motion to the turbo lift doors, and he doesn't need much more of a hint that something big is wrong; his gentle touch turns into a firm steering motion as Spock calls Scott to the bridge, then falls into step behind us.

"It seems Jim's voice is gone once more." Spock is saying, as Bones' medical tricorder beeps and whirs along my body. "Sickbay," He tells the turbo lift, and we are jarred with the rather abrupt sideways lurch.

"That's not right," He tells me now- "You should be recovering, not-"

"Part of the recovery process, perhaps?"

"I wouldn't think so-" The turbo lift doors open, and he shoves me out, hand locked around the nap of my neck and Spock just behind us. He guides me to sickbay, his grip unyielding.

One medical check later, and he-and I- are more worried then before.

"Your throat looks fully healed." He tells me, "or nearly there. I'm afraid the yelling you did before must have strained it, done some kind of-permanent damage."

And we're back to words like_ permanent_ and _ever_.

I grit my teeth, taking in a deep breath through my nose. I escaped that place, and then I escaped that place, and I'm not going to loose everything I care about now, after all of it, over a stupid thing like a sore throat.

"Just stay here or in your quarters. No talking, Jim, I mean it. If you have to say something, write it down, or if Spock is willing, use him."

Spock reaches out, his fingertips just barely brushing over my arm. The contact is light, almost non-existent; he's close enough to not even need to reach far. _I am perfectly willing._

_Thanks, Spock._ I say gently, unused to so much contact from him. I'm not complaining about it; I'm a touch oriented person. Most of my friends have long since adjusted to the fact that I need to touch; Bones calls it pathological, when he's in a mood, but he's more right then I like to admit. But Spock is not me, and he doesn't like to touch. Vulcans have more sensitive hands then humans-I think something like twice the nerve endings-and as touch telepaths, I can understand why they don't care for a lot of physical contact. I've figured out, over knowing him, that thoughts aren't the only things he picks up on-he's pretty sensitive to emotion, too, ironically enough.

Bones and I are about the only two I've ever seen him actively reach for, and even then, never as often as he's done with me over the past few months. It can't have been easy for him, and I owe him much more then a _thanks_. It's all I can offer for now, though.

"I'll see what I can do, Jim, but in the end, it may be just what I told you before- it may just…..not heal properly. I don't know what they used on you, I don't know exactly what it did, and therefore I don't know how to counteract it."

_Figure it out, Bones_, and I don't need Spock to tell him what I've said; he sees it, and his eyebrows shoot skyward.

"Jim-" His voice is gentle and calm, but I don't want explanations, or warnings; I don't want him to tell me how I need to be prepared for what might happen.

There's no point. I won't let it, so there's no point.

The next few weeks almost make me a lier.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I'm hacking up blood.

It's been ongoing for a week now; blood and the dead, decaying remains of that creature.

Because that is what was hurting my recovery, ladies and gentlemen.

It was still_ in me_.

The thought makes me shudder, even now. You know, back in the twenty first century, they had a disease nicknamed 'mono'. It could be life-threatening, but wasn't always, and we haven't seen cases of it in years. But when you had it, and started recovering, you would cough up-or vomit up- black bile, from the back of your throat.

That is sort of what I'm doing, but I'm lucky enough to get blood and chucks of flesh covered in tiny suckers.

Retching again, for the fourth, fifth,_ hundredth_ time since Bones started treatment today, I can't quite stop the cry of pain that accompanies it. His hands are on my shoulders, gripping tightly, holding me up. Spock is crouched just the other side of me, rubbing my back in slow circles-it doesn't help much but does sooth me.

The only way to get them out was to kill off the bits of the creature still holding onto the wall of my throat, and the only way to do that without damaging me is the rough equivalent of a radiation treatment. It's small, it's centered, and it's utterly painless and harmless- until I start coughing up dead bug-body parts.

And blood. Though that's only because of the violence of the coughing and the rawness of my throat, and will heal. We have to be careful I don't injure myself worse with the force of the coughs; so far, so good. But damn, it hurts.

I pull another deep breath, force it to be deep, my back and shoulders heaving upwards with the action.

"Good boy," Bones is muttering, absently- I don't think he even knows what he's saying. "Good boy, get it all up-"

I'm not a dog. I wish I could snark it at him, grin cheekily and make him scowl and stop looking so worried. Instead, I rest while I can, panting softly. I sound like a dog.

"Done?" He asks. For now, I reply, and Spock picks up on the thought and repeats it to McCoy, who helps me sit up. Pillows behind my back and water at my lips, which I sip eagerly at, and Bone's hand in my hair like I am a sick child.

"A few more treatments and you should be as good as new." He quips, trying to keep his voice light, even though he's not sure I'll be as good as anything and he's said it a hundred times over. I don't remind him.

_How many?_ I manage not to whine like a petulant child. I'm a bad sick person; I know it, Bones knows it- he's often called me the worst patient he's ever had- but I'm doing a decent job of tolerating my circumstances, I think.

"Would you rather not speak again?" He grunts. "Don't whine at me."

_I **wasn't.**_

"Yes, you were." He growls, pulling away from me. My eyebrows shoot up, mildly concerned. He knows me far too well. Spock gives me his not smile, his own eyebrow lifted elegantly. He's the only person I know who can communicate without saying a word, and the amused tolerance in that single arch of a brow is clear as glass.

_You hush._

_I do not believe I spoke, Captain. _He says, but I know how to listen for the amusement in his tone, well hidden, and it's there.

Sure. I drop my head back on the pillows, remembering Pike, suddenly. I think of the machine that would have allowed him to speak, or at least translate his thoughts into speech. I don't want to be stuck with something like that, or relying on someone else the way I am Spock.

_Captain._ Gentle, prodding. That will not occur.

_I know._ I won't let it. I keep repeating it to myself, sometimes almost a chant, a mantra; I won't let it.

But I rapidly feel as if I'm loosing control over it. I'm running out of time and getting worse, not better. And constant pain is exhausting; draining.

I open my eyes. Spock is watching me, quiet, expressionless, but with a world of concern in his eyes- I smile faintly, but it fails to reassure; I must look like hell right now.

_Need a shower, _I say, and one eyebrow lifts again, delicately. _Not you, me._

The other one joins it._ I did not need the clarification._

I didn't think he-wait, _what_?

_Are you saying I stink?_ I feel a real smile on my lips now.

_Captain, you have been bed-bound nearly totally for a week, coughing up small insectoid…..limbs…..and blood. You have also been doused heavily with a minor form of radiation, and have not, once, in all that time, changed clothing._

You're saying I stink.

Precisely. Sir.

I snort, it hurts, and I choke- laughing and coughing and gagging like a damn idiot. Bones is there instantly- "Spock what did you _do_?"- and I wave him down, but can't straighten up. Once I can breathe again, I look up, grinning. _Spock, tell him it wasn't your fault._

A glimmer of very human mischief in those dark eyes. "I did nothing, Doctor, simply agreed with the captain that he would do well with a shower."

"Huh. Well, he does have a point there, Jim."

Bones pats my back obligatorily-and none too gently- as I laugh again, choke again, and groan in frustration.

_Both of you have absolutely no respect for your Captain._ I grouse, which I know and they know is the farthest thing from true. Spock is the only one that hears it, of course, for which I'm glad. Bones may very well have knocked me upside the skull for it. Spock's lips thin and he just gives me a disapproving, reprimanding glance.

He's been taking lessons from Bones. I grin up at him, sweet-as-sugar.

It doesn't work on Spock any better then McCoy.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: And we come to the end. his could have been much longer, darker, and grittier- but considering it was never intended to be THIS long, or even meant to be written in this style, I'm happy with ending it here. Most of my darker stuff is one-shotish, anyway.....but if anyone wants to see something like this written as a Long Fic, let me know. **

**I do hope you enjoyed this,and for all who mentioned it- Playing Doctor is coming up next!  
**

"Damn it, Jim, you've got to eat."

_It hurts. Go away, Bones, let me suffer in peace at least. _

"Jim." Hand on my shoulder. It hurts. Everything hurts. I swat it away.

"Jim, stop being a baby or I swear to you I'll make good on my word to do this intravenously!"

_Might hurt less. Then again, it's Bones._

_I am __**not**__ being a baby._

I roll over and glare. _Did you seriously just call me a baby?_

"Get that look off your face." He sends me an irritated look, refusing to let me sink down, refusing to let me fall. Stubborn, hard-headed porcupine with enough strength for both of us, when mine was running low.

Right now, I hate him. I hurt. I'm scared. I just want to be _left. Alone._ So help me, if I could speak, I'd _order _him out, but he'd pull _his_ rank card, too, anyway, and he'd do it with blatant attitude.

But I need to be alone., Just long enough to get rid of the fear, to ride out the pain until I can grin my way through it. I'm not Spock- I can't control it, block it, ignore it. I can con my way through it, ride it like a wave, and hope it goes away before I run out of energy.

But I can't do it with Bones hovering. I think he knows that.

I think he also knows that, I don't really want to be….alone. Not _alone_ alone, as smothered as I feel, as fussy as he's being; if he walked out and didn't walk back in, it would go harder for me. I don't like to be alone.

But I _hurt_, and I just want quiet and peace and not to have Bones trying to force food on-

I start coughing. He's there instantly, lifting me, his voice gentle- "Ah, _Jim…."- _and no matter how gruff or impatient Bones gets with you, his hands are always so soft and tender, his touch sometimes painful-sometimes on purpose-but always soothing afterwards, mindless apology and ingrained habit. His hands are soft, not like my own callused ones; he takes care of his hands, like an artist would. Spock's hands are the same way, soft but strong. I'm the only one of us with calluses, on most of my fingers and all over my palms- I can put a cigarette out on my skin, and used to, when I was young and thought that was somehow impressive. (Not that I ever indulged the habit; drinking is my only vice. Well, when it comes to substances of that sort, anyway. )

When the fit passes, and I'm panting and laying back again and refusing to look at Bones who _won't_ stop looking at me, I offer him a weak smile.

For the second time, it fails to reassure anyone.

_Oh, come on, I don't look that bad, do I?_ I wish he could hear me.

I wish I could talk to Bones. _Talk_ to him, because my thoughts are running circles in my head like a dog chasing it's tail, without even Spock to hear them. But he needed a break and is currently back on the bridge, doing my job. (Ouch, Kirk, _that_ sounded a little bitter. Pull it together, will you?) I don't resent Spock for doing _his_ job; it's just frustration and hurt coming out in anger. Always has, with me-it's a character flaw. And a big one, sometimes-misplaced aggression is never fun or amusing, less so when it's the same people who always take the brunt of it.

"This will make _that_ feel better, too." He says, ignoring my attempt at a smile. "Jim, I don't want to have to treat you like an invalid, not let me sit you up and _eat_."

It's not a threat, it's a warning. Bones is very very good at keeping his word when it comes to _his_ sickbay, and I have seen quiet a few ensigns get the shock of their lives when he really _does_ do what he threatens to do.

"You're the one that didn't want to do this the easy way." He reminds, as I roll over and he props me up.

_There is __**nothing**__easy about this situation._ But I let it be playful, smirking a him. He smacks my arm lightly. "Eat." He says, irritably, shoving the bowl forward, making sure I've got a grip on it before he lets go. It is, amusingly, soup. At least it's not chicken; I might have to hurt someone if it was. He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"You're healing, Jim. Give it time, and don' try to rush things." He says. "Hard part's almost over."

_Or has just begun. _But somehow, as the medbay doors open and Spock enters, with the two of them on either side of me- I can't feel afraid.

My fear melts away, as even as pain sears down with the food I force into my stomach, I barely notice it.

I'm too busy trying to plot a way to escape from this damn bed.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

"He's resting, Finally."

"Finally?"

"He was up gagging half the damn night. All this technology and advancement around us, and we _still_ have to rely on something as nasty as radiation to kill off the monster attacking his throat."

"….I shall return to sickbay tonight."

"Spock ,you don't have to-I mean, he's getting _better_, it's just nasty."

"Doctor, that is the fourth time you have stumbled in ten minutes. We can not afford to have both our captain and ship's surgeon ill."

"Spock, I'm not-_shit_-"

Flesh on flesh, a soft grunt. "Are you quite alright?"

"I'm _fine_, I'm just-"

"Doctor, may I ask when the last time you ate is?"

"…..Well, well. Spock, _concerned_ about me?"

"Merely making the logical connection between your apparent lack of balance and your concern over the Captain. You did not answer my question."

"Yesterday, Spock, I was _with you_. Do Vulcans fall prey to Alzheimer's?….."

"Not only are you fully aware that we do not, Doctor, the cure for that illness was discovered-"

"I was being _sarcastic-oh."_

"Six times in fourteen minutes."

"Alright, alright, I'll go get lunch, just let me-Spock! Let go, damn it-"

____________________________________________________________

"Captian's Log, First Officer Spock in command.

Captain Kirk will be returning to full duty in precisely one week, assuming that he does not make a bid for freedom from sickbay before that time. With the treatments, he has slowly been healing from his incident with the Avios people. A report on the condition of planet Avios has been received, and he will be made aware of it when returning to full health. As I surmised, a demonstraiton of our strength was all necessary to convince the Avios their actions were unwise.

Doctor McCoy has placed the Captian under express orders to speak with him once a week for a remaining month regarding Mika. As long as this is carried out, his mental and emotional health are of no concern. While yelling is out of the question, the Captain is physical and mentally capable of performing his duties once more.

The ordeal is, once again, over. Now begins the one of-_Captian_. You are not intended to be on the bridge-"

___________________________________________________________________________________


End file.
